


I Ain’t Marching Any More

by pateshie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pateshie/pseuds/pateshie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>September, 1990. There's a lone black-haired student who's up against the world. There's a blonde, bushy-browed professor who's determined to figure him out. Levi makes love and Erwin makes war. No one said it would be easy but no said just how hard it would be either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Ain’t Marching Any More

“Some are calling it the largest mass arrest in this part of America. There’s no incident in recent memory that quite riva–”

Levi mutes the TV with a snort.

“Could they be any dumber?”

Hange looks up from her newspaper. “Well, to be fair, not everyone is a walking encyclopedia of anti-war protests.”

“Yes,” Levi concedes, eyeing the anchor with distaste, “but one would think a little research is a reasonable expectation.” Her expressions are oddly animated for the words she must be saying right now. “But not at Channel 9.”

“They only need two things.” Hange holds up one finger. “Blonde hair–”

“And blue eyes,” Levi finishes. 

Neither of them quite fits the bill. Hange is tall with unruly brown hair and wild, green eyes while Levi is short and has the unmistakably pinched look of a French-men. He runs a hand through his hair and fishes his watch out of his pocket.

“It’s almost time,” he says, slipping it around his wrist. “You should change.”

“Did you read David Keane’s piece?” 

“Yes.” Levi climbs off the sofa and stretches his arms. “Bullshit as always. Now come on, four-eyes, put some clothes on.”

“Make me some tea?” Hange carefully folds the morning paper in half and deposits it on their second-hand coffee table. It has marks all around the edges – some kind of countdown Levi has yet to figure out. 

“I’ll think about it.” He traces the thickly carved lines with his eyes. “Maybe brush your bird’s nest for once?”

“I’ll think about it!” Hange sings, padding out of the room. 

Of course it takes her much longer than the ten minutes Levi was hoping for. By the time they’ve begun the short walk to class, the hour hand is brushing nine. It’s a nice spring morning and the quad is crawling with friends and definitely-not-friends, each looking as reluctant as he feels. It seems like an awful waste to be cooped up in a classroom when there’s so much to do out here.

He slows down to an amble, Hange a few feet ahead of him. Something catches his attention. He takes a few, long strides and falls in step with her, frowning.

“It took you so long and your hair is still a mess, what were you even doing?”

Hange drapes an arm around him and pulls him in. “It’s not proper to ask a lady what she does in her private time,” she whispers and Levi grinds to a halt.

“Oh my God, I was kidding,” she says with a peal of laughter. 

Levi peers up into her eyes and deduces – no, decides, for his own sanity – that she probably was. He lets her drag him forward, enjoying their uncoordinated, lazy little walk. It’s comfortable to feel like some indefatigable, multi-limbed monster.

The comfort is short-lived because before long the Faculty of Science is looming before them and Hange disappears into it with a quick, “See you later!”

For all her tardiness, if the glint in her eyes is anything to go by, she is far more excited to be back at university than Levi is. It makes sense though. Hange is kind of an evil genius – she’s so smart that all the teachers love her and so crazy that her classmates can’t resent her. They’re always clamoring to hang out with her, usually to get her drunk enough for a game of truth and dare. Levi, on the other hand, is something of an oddball. For all his wisdom, he barely manages to pass his classes and he doesn’t think much of campus life. He can’t wait to graduate and _actually do useful things_.

The first thing standing between him and that is –

“Professor E.Smith, Contemporary Political Thought, Room #37,” he reads out. That means the third floor. He hurries down the corridor and up the staircase, a quick glance at his watch urging him on.

Someone is on his side because when he walks in seven minutes late a cacophony of noises greets him and their professor is nowhere to be seen. He scans the room for a vacant corner as his spot this semester. Unfortunately it’s in the front, in the very first row, but at least there’s a window. Plus this time around he’s decided he’s going to listen. Or at least try. Kind of. Maybe.

“Levi!” 

He looks to his left and finds a pretty, auburn haired girl smiling up at him.

“Hey, Petra.”

“How was your summer?” Petra asks, lacing her fingers and resting her chin on them, clearly ready for a conversation. Levi is, however, a more unwilling participant. He really wants to claim that seat before someone else does. 

“It was fine, thanks,” he says. “Hey, I’d better go and si–”

The word dies in his throat when he feels someone bump into him and _is that a hand on his ass_?

He whips around; a string of fucks dancing on his tongue. The foreign grip has disappeared and in its place is a tall, blonde man with the most obnoxiously blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says stiffly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“And what about your hand?”

“Excuse me?”

“Was it also not looking to grope my ass?”

Petra quickly lowers her head and their conversation is effectively terminated.

“Of course not.” The man stares down at him. “It must’ve been a mistake.”

Levi snorts. “Convincing. What about your presence in this class, is that a mistake too?”

The man gives him a tight smile. “No, I would think not. I teach this class.”

Levi knows he’s fucked up but he isn’t about to show it.

He steps out of the way with an exaggerated flourish. “Break a leg, professor.” 

The older man stares at him like he’s out of his fucking mind before walking into the room. He clears his throat – a small noise he makes impressively loud – and everyone rights themselves. Walkmans are paused, kisses are interrupted, and laughter is swallowed.

“Better yet, break an arm,” Levi murmurs, making a beeline for his seat. 

By the time he’s fished out the beaten up book he uses as a notepad (his printer gave it to him, it’s a faulty copy, the back side of every page is blank) and a small pencil, Professor Smith has shrugged off his coat and come to stand in front of the class.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask all of you a question.” He scans the room. Some people nod when he catches their eye. “What’s my name?”

“Erwin Smith?” It comes from the back.

“Correct. Now, by show of hands, how many of you had heard of me before this class?”

No arms go up.

“Correct again. What I’m trying to tell you is that I am a complete nobody, just like you. I’m not Plato, I’m not Rousseau. I’m not even Adam Smith who has nothing to do with politics but somehow keeps coming up anyway.”

It’s a fair point.

“So let’s try it like this. I will take everything you say seriously and you can return the favor by pretending I know what I’m talking about.” He fiddles with one of his cuffs. “Now I’m not going to ask you to stand on a desk and seize the day,” – there is some laughter – “but I would encourage you to question everyone you encounter in this class, no matter who they are. Before the less literary of you get excited, we’re still going to read the books but we’re also going to read the paper and we’re also going to read each other.”

The fingers Levi had wrapped around his pencil have gone limp. If a passerby were to examine him right now, some of the hostility has drained from his posture and his body is lightly tilting forward. He appreciates Professor Smith’s words, no doubt. He’s still getting smartass vibes but they’re of a different nature now – this man’s confidence comes from his complete lack of it. 

It’s a debatable way to introduce yourself to a group of restless 19 year olds. They are, like all students of politics, inherently mistrusting. But it’s a refreshing change from the wrinkled gaze and pithy voices of their more experienced faculty. Their words are as jaded as their owners. 

“How many of you read the paper this morning?” The professor leans back against his desk. Most hands go up. “Good, that makes my job easier. If you’ve noticed, a majority of headlines tend to pop up again and again. That’s because issues evolve. That is what makes an article different from a story, though the terms are used interchangeably.”

He straightens up and walks around his desk to the chalkboard.

“Since today is our first class, we don’t have to jump right into the syllabus. Think of it as a warm up session.” He picks up a piece of chalk and starts writing. “Technology and Development Group,” he reads out. His letters are refined and compact. “There’s a piece on it in today’s Post. The name – TDG for short – is I believe quite self-explanatory. But the politics of it? Maybe not.”

He gives them a slightly apologetic smile, his first since the incident by the door.

"Today we’re going to talk about the invasion.”

♘

Levi blinks as the full sunlight of the quad hits him. It’s about noon and he’s spent the past three hours in his two morning classes. He has one more after lunch, a tutorial.

From the corner of his eye he spots a petite figure.

“Petra!” He adjusts his sling bag and walks over to her. “I’m sorry, we didn’t really get to talk this morning.”

“You certainly did,” she counters with a half-exasperated smile. “I can’t believe you talked to a professor like that!”

“I didn’t know he’s a professor. Anyway, how was your summer?”

“The usual. I went home so my dad could get his fill of coddling me. Except this time he also made it his mission to embarrass me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Petra laughs. “Every third question was basically, hey, Petra, do you have a boyfriend?” Her ponytail is resting on her shoulder and she tugs it with a roll of her eyes. “It’s sad enough I’m single without my dad reminding me of it, like, constantly.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend either.”

She shakes her head. “But you barely have any time! You always have somewhere to be. You’re not like the rest of us.”

“That’s really rude but I’ll forgive you considering we’re friends.” 

“So generous,” she says with a mock gasp.

“I am because I’m even going to let you have lunch with me today.”

“You mean I get 15 whole minutes of your time?”

“Don’t be an ungrateful brat.”

“Page me when you’ve turned into John Cusack.”

This is why Levi likes Petra. On the surface she’s your regular home-grown girl, with her shiny hair and her earnest eyes, but the longer you know her, the better she gets at kicking your ass.

♘

“I bet he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.” 

“Well you certainly don’t.” Pixis gives him a wan smile. “What do you say?”

Levi examines the blood red lettering. It’s tastefully grotesque. “I like it.”

“Thanks. It’s a new type we’ve been working on.”

“It prints well.” He swipes a thumb over the nearest pamphlet. “The last batch looked like someone retched.”

“You can take that up with Moblit.”

“I’d rather not, he never reacts to me.”

“Only one you can’t get a rise out of.” Pixis chuckles. “So how many then?”

“200.”

“That’s a lot of dead presidents.”

“And even more dead civilians,” Levi says, frustrated. “The last rally barely had any attendance. I don’t understand the people in this university. If I printed make weed legal, they would turn up in thousands. But talk about people dying and nope, nada.”

“It wasn’t much different in my time.”

Levi gives him a perplexed look. “Yes, it was. Your time was like, ‘Nam.”

“I must look younger than I think.”

“It really grinds my balls to see them walking around like nothing’s up.” He drops into a nearby chair. “So much is up. I was actually grateful my caterpillar-browed professor talked about the Gulf today and I was in a politics class!”

“You should invite your class to the rally.”

“I will, I always do but most of them don’t bother showing up. They’re only good for beanbag activism.”

Pixis lets out a sympathetic noise. “That sucks.”

“It is so weird when you use slang.”

The older man flips him off.

“That’s even weirder.”

Pixis sighs and slips into the chair opposite his. “Can’t you pretend you respect me?”

“I do respect you, deep, deep, deep down inside.” Levi smiles, toothy and insincere. “So don’t pop a knee.”

He laughs when Pixis makes a strangled noise and lunges at him. He hoists him up by his frayed collar and gives him a good, hard shake.

“A week in the army would fix you.”

“Read the shirt, old man,” Levi manages to say. He points at the letters emblazoned across his garment of choice: BOMB THE WAR. It’s a well-known fact that Levi only wears slogan tees. To him it’s the most effective way of getting the word out. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people see him every day (more if his jeans are tight enough) and he isn’t about to let all those eyeballs go to waste.

Some of them, he admits, are less self-explanatory than others.

“That is one confusing statement.” Pixis deposits him back in the chair and crosses over to the door that leads to the front of the shop. “You can pick the rest of them up on Wednesday, there’s no need to hurry the cash,” he instructs on his way out. His independent press and bookstore is the largest of its kind in this part of the city. Levi is fortunate to have him on his side.

He picks up ten copies of the first batch and, rolling them up carefully, sticks them in his back pocket. There’s still forty-five minutes before his tutorial. He decides to swing by the faculty lounge and give a copy to his freshmen year tutor, Professor Boehrs. The man has always been supportive – if a little naïve – about Levi’s passion. Then again, he’s German and it’s hard to find a man more eager to atone than a German.

He walks into an empty lounge, everyone out to lunch. He considers leaving five pamphlets in the corner – it’d be good if other people read them too – and he’s laying the bundle on the table when a voice catches his attention. It’s floating out from the study, a smaller room attached to the lounge where professors can work in peace. Some of seniors ones have their own office but for the rest of them, this is it. 

“I bet they lapped it up.” A man laughs, not unkindly. Levi recognizes him as Mike Zacharius, a mid-level professor and ex-RA. He had had a brief stint as the latter, back when Levi was a freshman. The university chose him for one very obvious reason – his inhuman sense of smell – and it served them well until 75% of the male student body had to be suspended. In an unsaid agreement they had withdrawn Mike and the boys had consented to being more discreet.

“We’ll see,” another voice, deep and calm like a summer storm, says. It’s Professor Smith. “I need them to let their guard down.”

“You sound like you’re trying to brainwash them, Er.”

“Hardly. It’s more like a reality check.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Mike snickers. The rustling of papers follows him. “How about a coffee?”

“Sure.”

Levi is crouched by the sofa and his eyes widen. It’s an incriminating posture and not one he would like to be caught in. He makes a beeline for the door, the hem of his jeans disappearing just in time.

♘

`How many cigarettes did you smoke this week, bud? Do you think`

`it was more or less than the number of people who died in Kuwait?`

`The outdated elastic in your socks is making them droop further`

`than your balls. Do you even have a pair? If you did, you would be`

`on that street corner with the rest of us. You would be. You know it`

`and we know it. Enough with the excuses. Enough with the ennui. `

`Enough with the empty education. Turn the page. Change your shirt.`

`BRIDGE THE GULF. Friday. 2PM. The Gothic Gate.`

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for the first chapter! This is going to be a long ride and I'd love it if you accompanied me. More characters will appear in later chapters, along with more background. Comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading!


End file.
